“Morning,” he said stoically, put the flamingos down, and walked to the foyer. Robin gathered her robe more tightly around her, took a sip of very blah coffee, and attempted to focus on the information on her screen. But then Jake climbed up the ladder, reached high over head, and began to pry old trim from the top of the paned glass windows that graced the top of the eighteen-foot entry.
All thoughts of bubble wrap flew out of her head. Robin surreptitiously watched him over the rim of her coffee cup. As he strained to reach the trim, she could see the outline of his hips fitting snuggly in a pair of faded denim jeans, his broad muscular back beneath a very thin T-shirt, and the flash of that tattoo she was dying to see.
Okay. She had been around the world more than once, had dated more men than she could remember anymore, and rarely, rarely, had the physical presence of one man gotten under her skin like this. She was attracted to Jake Manning, big time. She continued to covertly watch him from behind the cover of her laptop, and miraculously, for the first time, she began to see past his butt to what he was actually doing. It fascinated her—he moved smoothly, working quickly and evenly, as if the dismantling of her home was the easiest thing in the world to do. She admired the way he didn’t waste a moment, how everything was done with maximum efficiency.
She watched until it became apparent she was going to get nothing done again today if she kept it up, and retreated to her bedroom for a shower and a little regrouping. She dressed in a denim skirt and pale blue raw silk blouse, then slipped on some sandals, figuring since there weren’t going to be any high-powered meetings on North Boulevard this afternoon, she might as well be comfortable.
When she returned to the dining room, Jake was gone again and her answering machine was blinking. She returned calls to Lucy and the account rep in the valley. She made calls to her attorney and her old college roommate, Cecilia Simpson-Duarte, who was hosting a charity event. She even took a phone call from Joe Miller’s secretary, who called to confirm a meeting in Minot, North Dakota, the following week, which, even though it was only Minot, made Robin oddly ecstatic.
Now if only Eldagirt Wirt would call. From the looks of the LTI and Dun & Bradstreet reports, the Wirt Company was probably the best option of the two. With a groan, Robin picked up the phone, dialed the number to Wirt Supplies and Packing that she now knew by heart, and got the receptionist again. “Wirt. How may I direct your call?”
“Robin Lear calling for Eldagirt Wirt, please.”
The girl sighed wearily. “She’s not in at the moment. May I leave a message?”
Okay, Eldagirt’s work habits—as in never—were really beginning to annoy Robin. “Do you expect her in today?”
“Yes, I expect her in today,” the girl said. “Girt is a very busy person, Miss Lear.”
“I am sure she is,” Robin hastily agreed, wondering just how busy a person who made bubble wrap could be. “But I’ve been trying to get hold of her for two days now.”
“One and a half. You’ve called her four times in twelve work hours.”
Well, hell, bite her head off, then. “Is there a convenient time to call?” Robin asked, trying to put the image from her mind of a woman named Eldagirt blowing up each individual bubble in the rolls of wrap she made.
“It would be better if she could call you this afternoon. She’s in and out a lot with her son. Is there a number she can reach you?”
Oooh, her son. Now she got it—the woman was not committed to her job. “Why, yes, there is a number. It is the same number I have left four times now. Shall I repeat it?”
“No,” the girl said coldly. “I’ll be sure and tell her you called.”
“I just bet you will,” Robin muttered as she hung up the phone. “And while you’re at it, tell her to get a real name!” she added petulantly, heard a strange scraping sound, and jerked around. Jake was standing under the archway, holding a stack of drop cloths. “And may I just add for the record that I don’t know how she runs that show if she’s never there!” she added testily.
“Ah well, you know what it’s like to be a busy executive,” Jake said as he strolled into the foyer and began to spread the drop cloths. “A long lunch, a round of golf with your client, then a meeting with the sales force to assure yourself that the business didn’t get up and walk out the door while you were screwing around.”
Robin snorted at his warped perspective. “Please. When I actually have an office, I can hardly grab lunch most days because there is so much to do.” She did not add that most days, she was busy trying to set up deals that were doomed from the start.
“Yeah, well, I’ve worked in enough executive’s houses to know it’s not exactly nose to the grindstone all day, either.”
“Oh yeah?” she asked, following him into the entry.
“Like this heart doctor’s garage apartment I did a few months ago. This guy’s wife went to the gym every day at two. And every day at two-oh-five, he came home with his girlfriend. God’s honest truth,” he added at Robin’s dubious look. “And every day at three-fifteen, they scooted out of the drive just before the wife came home from the gym.”
“I don’t believe you. Where was this, anyway?”